Heavy Metal Road Trip: Iceland Northern Route

I’ve already written here and in other places about the close-knit Eistnaflug festival that drew me (and about 200 other foreigners) to a remote fjord in Iceland in July. Iceland really only has one main road outside of Reykjavik – the Ring Road, which, you guessed it, rings the island. The north route along the ring road to the Eistnaflug festival is only slightly longer than the south route; both take a solid day of driving. I would rather see as much of the country as possible. Wouldn’t you?

I caught a ride in a festival-sponsored van driven by the man responsible for Iceland’s Wacken Metal Battle. The organizational skills required to pull off a national battle of the bands was in evidence as we embarked on a customized, two day, heavy metal road trip, following the southern route to Eistnaflug, and returning along the northern half of Iceland’s ring road. This post is about the northern part of the circuit.

Dimmuborgir

At first glance, the north of Iceland is not as metal as the south route with it’s black sand and giant blocks of ice – the north is too pretty.

Lake Myvatn hosts stories of an Icelandic Nessie, but I couldn’t imagine anything sinister in such lovely surroundings. But right across the road from the lake is one of Iceland’s most metal tourist sites, the Dimmuborgir. I’ve never really listened to the area’s black metal band namesake. But accompanied by eyewitnesses telling stories of studio shenanigans was the right way to wander through the Dark Fortress’ maze of lava formations.

Revolution

Heavy metal loves the resistance almost as much as it loves the underground. In 2014, Iceland erupted (sorry) into controversy over the question of maintenance fees. Wait, don’t go; this is important. Most of Iceland’s natural wonders are located on private property. Icelandic law has protected free access to nature as a right for centuries. The recent glut of foreign tourists has necessitated active maintenance of these sites, and a few landowners have started charging for access. We’re used to pay access fees for both public and private land in the U.S. But this new practice of charging for tickets has about the same legal standing in Iceland as the men in India who set up road blocks and start charging “tolls.”

We stopped at a geothermal area (I think it was Hverarönd) where one of these admission gates had recently been established. While our host argued with the gatekeepers, demanding (and eventually obtaining) the phone numbers of those responsible, the responses of the guests in the van varied. Those who had been there before drank beer in the parking lot. I took pictures with a zoom lens and observed the action at the gate with as much interest as the steam bubbling up from the ground. But my favorite response came from the French record label executive who nonchalantly stepped over the fence and proceeded to explore the area at leisure while politely remaining on the paths.

Underground

After political action, we returned to the underground. Literally.

First we visited a well-known hot springs cave. The temperature of the water in the spring had recently changed, and was no longer suitable for swimming. So we also visited a secret underground spring that was perfect for swimming. Well, actually I looked over the edge in a nauseated cold sweat while the others climbed 35 feet below the surface of a lava field to soak in a geothermal pool. I have already written about this experience.

Gođafoss

Gođafoss is not the most spectacular waterfall in Iceland, but to my eyes it is the most beautiful. When I saw it, I felt a thrill incongruously combined with a deep sensation of peace. I’ve always said I could never live anywhere outside of walking distance to good coffee and Thai food. But I suspect that I could live without a lot of things within sight of that waterfall. It is also pretty metal. The waterfall takes its name from the legend of the heathen Lawspeaker who resolved that Iceland should abandon the old gods. He threw all their statues over the falls.

Akureyri

I have already written about our stop in Akureyri for dinner and the final game of the world cup. I don’t know if there is anything metal about Akureyri, but I loved what I saw of it and can’t wait to go back.

Long Haul

After Akureyri, we didn’t stop much. It was the middle of the night, and as we moved south it became almost dark. We passed through an area of rich farmland; another landscape that doesn’t look very metal. Had it been daytime, we might have detoured to the Snorristofa to see the place where Snorri Sturlason lived and was murdered. There we could have learned about the bloody period of anarchy known as the Sturlung Era, which led to Iceland’s subjugation by the Danes for the next seven centuries.

But since it was night, I did get to see an Arctic fox dart across the road.

Rolling into Reykjavik

It was after 3 a.m. on a Monday morning when we rolled into Reykjavík. Our host had to be at work in five hours, and others had planes to catch even sooner. They dropped me at KEX hostel on their way to the airport. I dragged my bag up the stairs to the lobby where a group of travelers on big leather couches chatted quietly over beers. I waved out the window at the van as it pulled out, headed to the airport. But they didn’t see me. My heavy metal road trip had come full circle. I was back in my home away from home.